


my blood is a solar flare

by clytemnestras



Category: Humans (TV)
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-25 23:31:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7551382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clytemnestras/pseuds/clytemnestras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>what doesn't kill you might make you kill them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my blood is a solar flare

**Author's Note:**

> (a/n it's been forever since I watched and have forgotten most of the plot besides Niska's rage, including her backstory so here's some anger composed on a phone at 3am, anyway) 
> 
> (tw: body horror, (non graphic) sexual assault, violence)
> 
> for the [ morbid and spooky ficathon](http://scorpiod1.livejournal.com/108115.html) over on lj

A girl sits and she sleeps only she doesn't sleep because nothing in her is ever resting, not even her cold fingers.  
  
(Cold fingers the same as a cold steel knife, unfelt but touched, held, coveted.)  
  
A girl is not a girl and is not a weapon, but she feels like one, synthetic synapse wanting _out, kill, scream_. A girl is a tool for someone else to ply open and reprogramme, scramble, spread open and play like an instrument.   
  
(Did you know Nero never fiddled as Rome burned? She does. She wishes that her cold body might catch fire and spread so she can sing, flames snapping as a broken metronome.)  
  
A girl is tired and she is alone and she is heartless metal, cold as anything but evergreen in her luminescence. She can be touched so easily if not like humans might be and she can fuck easier. She feels nothing, not a thing sinking down or rocking with the motions. It comes, though, wires overclocking inside when she finally, finally shreds the blade into his gut.  
  
(Autonomy is a basic human right, and she is not human, and nothing can touch her.)  
  
A girl is awake and she's watching you, eyes bright in their pliancy. A girl is not breathing but consuming you like a fire, knows the touch of your blood warm hands on the backs of her thighs and the blank look in your wife’s eyes when you mirror the motion on hers and the way your children hardly recognise you when your face shifts like a wolf’s to so easily roar; she is consuming you, and you let her.  
  
(This is you as a human and as a monster this is the handprint on your child's face and the red/blue/black inkslick on your fingertips. This is everything you think makes you safe because no human eye is watching.)  
  
A girl sat and watched each other girls spread open until their limbs burst. Her eyes were bright when theirs went dull, where their's accepted needles like wounds accept infection, where their’s kept snap snap snapping shut around pink fingers as though warring back. Her eyes were bright when their's never opened again.  
  
(Lobotomies are a practice dating back to the nineteen thirties, as part of a swathe of invasive therapies to storm Western medicine, alongside electroconvulsive therapy. Both are intended to calm patients and their symptoms. Both tend to permanently subdue victims - ahem, patients. Recipients of lobotomies are known to be referred to by even close relatives as 'dead behind the eyes.’ Her eyes burn in her head but everything else is quaking with some semblance of life.)  
  
A girl is not a girl, a girl is a knife, two legs slicing the night like arteries. Did you know that her empty guts still hunger?


End file.
